Drawing the female nude at 40

Telling the story of a day she and Pseudonymous Kid spent at the community pool last week to escape the heat, Dr B very cinematically places herself naked in the camera's eye, so to speak, describing herself and PK changing into their bathing suits, showering afterwards, and drying off, a process that for Dr B herself involves letting the air do most of the work and takes time, time during which she does not bother to wrap herself in a towel, and since she's an excellent writer, her descriptions are vivid.

Not explicit.

Just easy to picture, like a movie or a painting.

The pictures I conjured up for myself were Hopperesque. The scene as Dr B writes it is realistic, matter of fact, not un-erotic, but non-erotic; Dr B's nudity, and PK's, are details of the scene, like the lockers, wet towels, sticky wet bathing suits, and---a key detail---the embarrassed looks on the faces of the other mothers and the teenaged girls in the locker room with them, who are decidedly not naked---the beauty of Dr B's nudity in other contexts is not denied but not dwelled upon.

If Dr B's story was a scene in a movie, her nudity---or the nudity of the actress playing her, which would have to be total, no coyness with the towels or camera placement---would not be gratuitious. Dr B's post is about Dr B naked, because it is a meditation on a number of things of which her own body is either a problematic example or an affected innocent bystander: Cultural attitudes towards nudity, aging, beauty (male and female), gender roles, and child rearing; the discomfort a lot of women, especially middle-aged women, feel inside their own skin, and Dr B's own acceptance and even appreciation of her self as her body apporaches the age of 40.

At the end of her post, though, Dr B writes that she wishes:

more men would write honestly about sex and sexiness. The
only time you see guys writing about sex is when they're playing stud,
or bragging on how hot some 19-year old model is.

...in private (comment threads, chats, conversations) these same guys
talk about women who look *nothing* like 19-year old models in ways
that demonstrate real appreciation of, and love for, real women. But in
popular culture we continue to perpetuate the idea that all men find
19-year old models to be the creme de la creme of female attractiveness.

Ok, now we're in my territory.

I am a true connoisseur of late blooming female beauty. I love the bodies of older women and I have the pictures to prove it. I'd post them but the wife and professional woman who lives inside the particular forty-something body I love would kill me.

On the beach on the Cape this year---and I swear once more that I bring my binoculars to the beach to look at the seals and birds and do not train them on any human wildlife---I was again struck by the differences between the women in middle age and the men. The beach at Chatham does not present a truly representative sampling of Boomers and Gen Xers because the summer population of middle-aged women is generally more affluent and they have the time and money to spend on keeping themselves in shape.

The men probably don't have the same amount of time, but, as a group, they clearly don't devote whatever time they do have to exercise, nor do they watch their diets.

The consequences of this were again, as they were last summer, that the view was much more enjoyable for me than for the blonde and Uncle Merlin.

An odd, and probably too self-revealing an aside: the bikini seems to have made a big comeback. I don't remember seeing so many the past few vacations. My first thought was that a sizeable cohort of teenagers made the jump from little girls to young women over the winter and so there were just more bikini wearers everywhere I looked. This was unsettling, because I try very hard not to ogle anyone who is not old enough to serve in the United States Senate. Not because I'm so mature or such a gentleman. It's just too embarrassing to be caught looking at a 16 year old even if she does have the body of a centerfold and is not dressing to disguise the fact.

But there were plenty of their mothers in bikinis to distract me. Now another odd fact. I am ambivalent about the idea of women in their 30s and 40s and up wearing bikinis, no matter how good they look in them. I can't get over the idea that for older women wearing a bikini is as appropriate as wearing a pinafore and patent leather shoes.

I think that's cultural conditioning on my part. Too many Beach Boys tunes in my youth plus the fact that one piece bathing suits were the fashion for the last twenty odd years and I learned to appreciate the middle aged female form in a tank suit.

I'm against men wearing bikinis too. No man of any age, no matter in how good a shape he's in, should wear a Speedo unless he's on his high school, college, or Olympic swim team and actually competing at the moment.

At any rate, I wish that more middle-aged women would be as comfortable in their skin as Dr B and would dress, act, and pose for pictures accordingly.

I see signs that as the Gen Xers hit 40 this is happening, but I also see signs that they are being as pressured by impossible ideals of beauty set for them by advertising and Hollywood as they were when they were teenagers.

This morning as I was out picking up some breakfast treats at the convenience store I saw a magazine on the rack that promised to tell women how to look great at 20, at 30, and at 40. The name of the magazine didn't register on me. I'm just half-blind to those kinds of magazines. Might have been Glamour. The cover photo featured three beautiful women, celebrities, of course, one in her 20s, one in her 30s, and one in her 40s. The first two I didn't know. The fortysomething was Sheryl Crow, who I was surprised to find out is 44 already and who looks great.

But great turns out to be she looks pretty close in age to the 30something and not all that much older than the 20something.

Now, Crow is probably blessed with good genes and, here, a talented photographer. But I'm sure she also gets a lot of execise, having the time for it that most women her age don't, and, like a lot of celebrites and rich women her age, she might very well have an excellent plastic surgeon's phone number on her speed-dial.

Gen Xers have entered middle age with advantages over their mothers. Generally---generationally---they don't smoke as much or drink as much and they get more exercise and they have learned---a little late, but better late than never---to take care in the sun. They had fewer pregnancies. As children, too, they got better medical attention and were better nourished. (Their children are going to be even more beautiful when they reach middle-age.) So they do look younger than their mothers did at their age.

And simply by looking younger and being healthier they are sexier.

The warpings and perversities of the fashion industry and advertising and Hollywood aside, there are biological reasons why we respond to a youthful ideal of beauty.

While fortysomething women are now allowed (?) to be sexy the way only twentysomething women used to be, the picture of Sheryl Crow on that magazine cover was trying to tell them that the way to look good, meaning sexy, at 44 was, through personal training and strategic cosmetic surgery, to look 24.

Much has been written and said about how the Media's constant exploitation of a certain standard of female beauty to sell stuff creates anxiety and self-loathing in young women in respect to their bodies. Presented with an impossible ideal, they learn to hate their own looks and long for an alternative self-image that of course they can't achieve, leading to more anxiety and self-loathing, but which they spend inordinate amounts of time and money on trying to attain anyway.

But I think that there's another, equally damaging effect.

The constant fetishization and eroticization of female beauty in magazines and on TV teaches many young women to eroticize and fetishize their own bodies.

I don't think it's too much to say that they fall in love with their own reflections.

I wouldn't go as far as blaming the whole Girls Gone Wild phenomenon on a generation of narcissists falling in love with their own reflections. But I do think there are probably more women, young and middle-aged, who learned to admire themselves as objects of desire and who need to have eyes upon them to know they exist. They need the camera's gaze, not simply the male gaze.

They need to see themselves reflected in order to see their own reflections.

The problem, of course, with falling in love with a body, your own or anyone else's, that's 15, 16, 17 years old is that you won't have it to admire for long. A teenage body, even a 20 year old body, is an unfinished body in the process of finishing itself in a hurry.

Bones keep growing into your thirties, which means that no matter how hard they resist it, through dieting, excercise, and surgery, young women get bigger as they advance towards middle-age.

The result of this for a lot of them is that they get ugly in their own eyes.

I think this explains why so many of the professionally narcissistic---young actressess---have taken to starving themselves. They are trying to maintain the adolescent body shape they fell in love with in the mirror (the mirrors in their bedrooms and the mirrors in magazines and on TV), a body shape they only approximate through an excessive thinness that very few straight men respond to.

To answer Dr B's request that men write about female beauty in a way that corresponds to what the evidence of their own choices for sexual partner shows they actually admire and desire, I think lots of men have made it clear that whatever the starlets think they're doing we wish they would stop it.

One of my favorite fortysomething beauties, Teri Hatcher, has made a gargoyle of herself trying to look 20.

They're still real, they're still spectacular, but they're hard to focus on because of what all the botox is doing above them and the starvation diet is doing to the rest of the body around them.

To a much lesser extent, but still to an extent, the fashion industry and advertising and Hollywood push an almost impossible ideal of male beauty too. Look at a Banana Republic ad, if you doubt this.

But straight men have learned through long habit not to look at other men and certainly not to judge them as erotic ideals.

And while you'd think that our obsession with professional sports would have some effect on our body images---the athletic ideal of male beauty includes broad shoulders and narrow waists and muscular thighs and calves, but how many middle-aged men do you see even trying---the reason it doesn't is that the ideal of male beauty in sports is a body in action.

This is also the Hollywood ideal. Gary Cooper when he was young was more beautiful than many of his leading ladies. So was Cary Grant. But they rarely stood still to be admired as beautiful objects. They were athletic and they moved and in motion their beauty transfered itself to their actions and did not remain locked within their bodies and faces.

The leading men who managed to stay plausible romantic leads through middle-age and even into early old age---I'm thinking of John Wayne, particularly---were able to do so because they were always active and competent on screen.

Action movie heroes don't manage the trick becuse they are only violent and their competence is merely brute strength triumphing over someone else's brute strength. Arnold Schwartzenegger and Sylvester Stallone became ridiculous self-parodies in their 40s. That never happened to Wayne.

But it's why it almost works that he gets Angie Dickinson in Rio Bravo when he was not a particularly trim and youthful 52 and she was barely more than half his age at 28.

And this has allowed men to identify with them and to internalize a flattering self-image based on being active and competent.

A middle-aged man has only to pick up a hammer and start banging to fool himself into thinking he's young, virile, and sexy.

A middle-aged woman is still required to stand still and pose.

I think that's changing. As women become more active, not simply in their professional lives, but as they play more sports and exercise more and take on more formerly male-only tasks, like picking up hammers and wrenches, they are beginning to redefine female beauty as an active ideal too.

The female ideal of beauty will become like the male ideal a body in motion.

Dr B probably didn't intend this repsonse on my part, but I'm sorry, I can't help myself, and I hope, if she reads this, she won't mind. The most atttractive aspect of her nude self-portrait is that she describes herself always as a body in motion:

And after an hour or so, the whistle blows, and we go back into the
locker room to change, and I--as I always do/did when I swim--strip in
the shower and rinse my suit out thoroughly. No one else is stripping
in the shower; everyone is washing their hair with their swimsuits on.
(?!?) And PK is playing around in the shower with me in that "I shower
with mama all the time" way. And somehow I realize that I'm the adult
woman whose body used to freak me out a little when I was an
adolescent--it just looks so frank, with the belly, and the
softer ass, and the larger areolae. But what I realize now is that the
frankness is largely a function of just not trying to hide when naked.

I
wrap a towel around myself and one around PK, and we march back to the
lockers, where I drop our towels on the bench and bend down to get our
clothes out and PK gets out of his suit, and suddenly I can feel the
sidelong glances we're not-quite-getting from the teenagers because omg
that's a little boy naked in the women's locker room. And I
help PK get dressed first, of course, without being wrapped in a towel
myself because managing a towel while dressing a little kid is a hassle
(plus I want to air out a bit), so I'm naked for a good long time. But
no one else is naked, because they've all sneaked off into the side
rooms to change. And he gets dressed, and then I wrap my skirt back
around myself and pull my tank over my head and no way am I going to
comb my chloriney hair so we walk out of the locker room, sans bra and
underwear, tangled damp hair dripping down our backs, past the women
and girls drying their hair at the mirrors and re-applying makeup
(?!?!) and back out into the now-tolerable heat.

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If you define sexiness as not just looking good, but looking good naked or in a bikini, middle-aged women are always going to be less sexy than a 20 year old. I've seen some sexy older women in my day, but their sexiness came from their personality and to the extent their sexiness was based on their looks, it had more to do with how their looks reflected their personality than whether their boobs were firm.

Of course I agree with Greg and Lance, and with everyone else who's gotten into this business about naked bodies.
My point is: Not all 19-year-olds are beautiful. And some who are, will never know it. They are so stymied by what they fear the world's reaction will be that they truly believe pixie ears or freckles make them hideous. They, more than anyone else, compare themselves with the 19-year-old idols. Five pounds more than the cover girl turns them into a hippo.
And others, have just given up. Beauty is a gift they didn't get, like singing on key or a thorough understanding of non-Euclidean Geometry. So they'll concentrate on something else.
Often these girls' bodies have developed over the summer, or as it seems to them, overnight. And suddenly their moher, father, some guy driving past--everyone!--feels free to comment. "My you've filled out since last time we got together." This fixation really can grease the slide to eating disorders.
By the time a woman is 30, 40, whatever she knows what's beautiful about herself, the self she loves, and what is not. Some young women--I know them--have grown up valuing their wit and intelligence, their playfulnes and even "their music" far more than their beauty. If they happen to be stunningly beautiful no matter how they dress, with mesmerizing skin and eyes, make-up or not, they are well aware that they happened to get extremely lucky. What if they'd inherited that acne that blossomed into full size carbuncles all over their brothers'face? Phew!
But their wild beauty just doesn't matter as much as lots of other things. If men start drooling over them, these girls, who still may fear their new-formed naked selves, and hide behind curtains dressing and undressing--are more likely to ask the guy if he has a problem with his salivary glands than if it's she who is making him pant like a thirsty dog.

'Francis returns from his dance-floor foray. He's hyper, like a kid on sugar, talking fast. He says he's discovered the ultimate quarry: a girl who says she will be 17 for just a few more hours and who wants to get wild for the cameras the minute she's legal. "Girls Gone Wild" crew members can receive a bonus of $1,000 if they discover such a treasure, he shouts happily.

I follow Francis and his bodyguard through the crowd to find Kaitlyn Bultema. She's dancing on a podium and leaps off at the sight of Francis. She's wearing a skirt-and-shirt ensemble that exposes her stomach, most of her breasts and much of her bottom. I ask her why she wants to appear on "Girls Gone Wild" and she looks me in the eye and says, "I want everybody to see me because I'm hot."'

This struck me as apropos because of the narcissism and mirror imagery you brought up. Without having made a careful study of what being attractive means, I'd still say that it seems the "hippie"-ishness that Dr. B points out-being "perfectly comfortable" with one's body-is a less important component of feeling attractive than is the confirmation of being ogled or seeing a match between yourself in the mirror and what's in the media.

To the detriment of social relations, people who are attractive and simply comfortable with their bodies seem to be a much smaller minority than ever before. Without actually relating to these people, it seems that many (most?) young, good looking strangers I encounter who find themselves attractive do so because they have it externally confirmed. It also strikes me that because their attractiveness is externally confirmed, they carry a certain unapproachable attitude--almost a sense of entitlement.

The sad part is that they're so unreflective that they can't see that their attractiveness makes them co-dependent on their spectators.

This is so interesting. I'm a woman in her late 30s and I remember so vividly how I retreated from sexuality when I developed young and could not in any way handle the attention of men who looked at my breasts and body rather than my face, who never noticed that I was still really a little girl.

The sickest part of it is that at 12 or so if I was whistled at or harassed on the street this fact was treated - by the adult women in my life - as a reward, a proof of my sexual value.

It took me years and years and years to understand what was cockeyed about this and to stop seeing the male gaze as what made me sexy...or not. I like my face now more -with the expression that life has given it, not the kind of formless prettiness of 17 or 22 and even my body now, because though it is far from perfect it is mine in a way that my young body never was.

I really appreciated the way Dr. B described inhabiting herself. That's extraordinary and beautiful.